


days of empty

by bitpsychic



Category: Younger (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Writer/Editor AU, he never stepped up as publisher, she never lied, she never worked at empirical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-01-16 12:43:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitpsychic/pseuds/bitpsychic
Summary: Charles Brooks, an editor working on his father's publisher, bets on writer Liza Miller, who wrote a tell-all novel disguised as fiction, about her life as a New Jersey housewife and the search for purpose.A story that's set on an alternate timeline, where Liza never felt the need to lie about her age or even get the job at Empirical press.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! so, this is my first Younger fanfiction, and english is my second language, so i'm sorry for any mistakes that you might - or will eventually, because i know me well enough - come across.  
> as always, i take constructive criticism - if you see something, say something! - and i do hope you like my work.

_**Liza**_  kneels in front of that box she calls her  _ **'box of memories** '_: as soon as she opens it, she recognizes most of the mementos; Her _college diploma_ from Dartmouth University, her _wedding pictures_  with David, subsequently, their  _divorce papers_.

The worse memories she ever had now begin to surface: The gambling debts hidden from her so professionally, being buried and hidden until they surface and culminate along with the cherry on top: Liza finding out David was cheating on her with a blackjack dealer.

She thinks it's the worst pill she ever had to swallow, but then she remembers her mother's passing. That would definitely be the moment of her life where she knew she had hit rock bottom: she had lost her support, her unconditional harbor.

Her mother was never very fond of David, and so she fought her incessantly. Before marrying David, she lived to prove she could. That he was a good prospect. She can't lie and say she doesn't regret it now.

Of course, that her mother's first words after her family found out about his affair, straightforward as ever, were  _"I can't say I'm not surprised."_  Every single day before her mother passed, Liza blamed herself for being so blind, until she did, and then had the sudden epiphany that there are worse things.

During this period of grief, the only direct support she had was of her friend Maggie. Her daughter was in India, too far for comfort, too far for a hug.

_Caitlin._

Liza immediately digs  _a picture of her with her daughter_  out of the pile of mementos in front of her, and everything, herself, the climate around her, it all seems to soothe. And her panorama is now filtered so sweet and full of roses, that she realizes Caitlin is one of the only good things in her life currently, the only person in her family worth fighting for.

There are  _oh so many_  times in Liza's life where she, even though it cost her to admit it out loud, regrets having her daughter when she did, not because she didn't love her, but because she was yet another liability the mother had to be encharged on, because she had to lose her job so soon to take care of her. Because, in sum, she lost yet another viable long-term prospect in her life.

She recalls her times in Random House, looking at a  _business card_  almost sunk under the other pile of sheets and memories, and she remembers what she lost. More than a job, what she loved. What she could have been. A big, respectable executive editor, working on her field, doing what she was passionate about. Having her name inside books, books she devoured, books that were more than her life.

And then, at last, she sees this  _manuscript_  – and she remembers all her free times when Caitlin was asleep and David was either out or too busy watching baseball to care – her novel, the novel she had written bit by bit for the first 10 or so years of her daughter's life. 'Days of Empty', she'd called it – a tell-all about her life as a housewife, while seeking the purpose she missed, a tell-all disguised as fiction.

As her eyes diagonally roam through the words, it's like she remembers it as vividly as when she'd written it: so poetic, so graceful, thinly veiled in some parts, but she loved it nonetheless. To her, this book kept her sane for long, much like crochet and cross-stitching, or singing around the house, they kept her busy enough to think she was alright, until she realized she wasn't.

The book was her baby and all of a sudden... she realizes she can put two and two together.

Liza's daughter makes sure she reminds her weekly, or even less sparsely, that she's free to get a job now, that it will probably make her happier than just walking around the house doing nothing and constantly reminiscing old memories. She knew, though, no one would take her back into publishing without any work experience.

But, this time, she had a book. And she was more than ready to get on the other side of the editing process – if only a Publisher would take her.

**.   .   .**

All of a sudden, her things are everywhere: her manuscript is open on the living room's carpet, her notes are spread on the ground, and she has the computer on her lap: Liza decides she shall contact an agent, there and then. And she's calling one after the other, scared for her life, not knowing what to expect on the other line.

Back when Liza worked at Random House, she was constantly told that agents usually have fiery personalities, that you either work with the right ones or it might be unbearable throughout, but her process of choice isn't very glamorous.

1\. Cheap (Preferably).

2\. Nice? (If possible).

The third agent she contacts is a young man, seemingly on his twenty-somethings, name Redmond. He lets Liza pitch her offer, but is quick at declaring he's better at working with somewhat... younger peers.

_"Hmm, so Random House is a no-no, dear-"_

_"Thank God."_  She voices, under a breath.

 _"Oh, so she's picky, I see."_  The man replies, quick and snappy.

_"No, I mean- I have a history with Random House, so I'd rather not anyway."_

_"Mhm. Well, lucky you, I got some tight contacts at Empirical. Y'know, family owned, much more modest, a harbor of the classics. Do you see yourself there?"_

Liza chuckles.  _"I see myself anywhere that would take me."_

 _"Anywhere but Random House."_  He responds.

_"Bingo."_

**.   .   .**

After an (unbelievably) successful transaction, Liza leans on the arm of her couch, laughing and smiling and, finally, she thinks to herself, creating, alone and with the help of nobody else, some good memories worth revisiting.

As she pops a bottle of white wine, her phone buzzes, and as she picks it up and reads the content, she feels herself vibrating head to toe.

_"Meeting Wednesday @ Empirical, 11:30 AM sharp. Dress pretty. And you're welcome, 'anywhere but Random House'."_


	2. veil of mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally. okay, so i admit that april, in the middle of midterms, finals, stress and graduation, wasn't the best timing to post a prologue of a book. this work was always in the back of my mind though, never forgotten, and now i'm back, hopefully stronger than ever and so happy to be here again. i'm so sorry for these two months. anyway, about this chapter:
> 
> liza has her first meeting at empirical press and nervousism has the best of her, so she calls her book agent redmond to keep her company. already at empirical, the two play a little game to calm liza's nerves.

Liza's more than used to a certain void in her days, so it's a pleasant change when she wakes up differently that certain Wednesday.

By then, she had made sure she'd properly printed her manuscript and prepared a speech, along with answers to all questions imaginable. Then, she organized everything she needed in a little pile on the kitchen table, in order for her to grab and go. And so, she feels lighter in the morning, with fewer concerns, maybe so feeling free to toss and turn a bit before getting out of bed.

Remembering her agent's note for her to _dress pretty_ , Liza had previously chosen a lavender dress down to her knees, which had a thin silver belt attached to it, and with it in mind decided that her hair would look more complimentary if loose and styled.

Liza thinks she should radiate confidence and power more than anything, so she's shocked when she steps in front of the mirror and feels the direct opposite. It's like all she sees is a permanent, unfading memory of the old divorced housewife, mother of one, lonely and above all, scared, frightened woman, who's too cowardly to explore the world. Like she was formatted to be this way forever, with no possible escape that doesn't become ridiculously pointless with time.

She can feel her worries coming in. Desperately, she shuffles in her position and, instinctively, calls Redmond. He did say she could call him if she needed anything at all. _Well, if he's getting paid enough, of course, who wouldn't say that?_ , she wonders. As Liza dials his number, all she can think is is that he'll probably hear all her heavy breathing on the other line. What an embarrassment.

_"Hey, Liza. What's up?"_ These past days, Liza had noticed that the way her agent dragged his vowels was comical, to say the least - yet today she can't be bothered to even form a smile.

"Redmond," she voices, "Look, I need you."

_"And I need you to be clearer, please?"_ He replies, on the brink of confusion.

"I mean, I need you there... with me- on Empirical." She sighs heavily.

_"Uh, but just please, breathe, okay?"_ Redmond's concern was noticeable, and his nerves rising with the fact he couldn't help much more were even more.

"I'm trying, I swear. Please, Redmond, I'll- I'll pay you extra."

He concedes when he senses the desperation in Liza's tone, and soon enough realizes that distracting her would probably be the best way to make her calm down quicker. _"Sweetie, I'm already paid well enough, although I do appreciate the bribing- I'll be there, alright?"_ The pause seems endless although it only lasted mere seconds - the agent really was expecting Liza to laugh at his remark. He can hear her exhale on the other line, though, and so contents himself with a small victory. _"You owe me a 'thank you', huh."_

She feels, though not entirely alright, calm enough to let out a faint, nervous chuckle, which to him felt like an enormous relief. "I owe you a million 'thank you's," the writer replies, "and you're getting every single one of them soon enough, believe me."

_"Oh, and Liza,"_ he adds, _"Even though it doesn't seem like it right now, **this** is normal."_

It's like she can breathe easy, even.

 

**.     .     .**

 

Redmond told her to arrive ten minutes early - he said he'd talk her through her nerves, hopefully, provide her enough distraction so that she'd have a calm meeting. So when she sees the curly-haired guy that matched perfectly the headshot she'd seen online, she walks towards him as quick as one can.

"Redmond," she extends her hand to him, "Liza. Thank you for being- well, present."

The agent shakes Liza's hand, eyeing her up and down. "Wow, uh. You're- tall!" The truth was they had never spoken in person, apart from the occasional business video chat, and her figure was unexpected.

"I take that as a good thing." The woman chuckles nervously, shifting on her standing position.

Redmond only nods in response, "Oddly enough. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm slightly envious of your legs." Liza looks down in silence, shy with the cordial flattery.

Yet, the silence isn't long enough until the writer spirals out of control right before him, a stuttering chaos she never desired him to witness. "Uh, so, I mean- I've my presentation lined out. I thought maybe you would want to see it."

Liza immediately extends to him a handful of sheets with messy bullet points, which he pushes away. "I'm good."

"You sure?"

Redmond smiles, forcing a chuckle in. "You're the only one who is unsure of yourself. Look, you have 5 minutes," He specifies, looking at his wristwatch, "and you're not going to spend them reading through these and making yourself even more nervous than you already are."

"Right." She replies.

"Your book is good, and that will speak for itself. And if it doesn't," he adds, "I will."

Their conversation leads to silence for the second time in five minutes, but it's never too long. This time, to cut it, the Empirical staff starts arriving, and Liza's eyes only roam the room in curiosity. _All these power people..._

"Hey, since you're a writer and all that jazz, hun, how 'bout we play a little _'Guess the character'_? Might calm you down."

Liza chuckles in confusion, "Huh?"

"Please, tall girl," This sudden nickname makes her snicker uncontrollably. "Ooh, tall girl. I like it, that'll stick. What I mean is, these personalities, these, uh-"

"Power people." She adds, more serene.

"Power people, yes- you think they're more than a common, basic character personality you write about in one of your books? Nah, they're so typical it actually hurts."

"So," the writer inquires, eyeing the people in the common room, "How do we start?"

"Diana Trout." He then points to a woman she assumed was, like her, older. Liza immediately assumes by the attire the woman is wearing that she has a high, prestigious job - the fit cut of the dress, the enormous statement necklace (which she honestly wondered how much it made the lady's neck hurt from one to ten,) - but besides the superficial, she did not tell her much. Liza wasn't getting any vibe. She settled to presuming by her colder features that she was a very professional woman, dedicated to the job and, most of the times, strict.

"A high job, status of prestige. She takes what she does very seriously."

"Mean boss bitch, then."

"Sort of, yeah. But misunderstood." Her head tilted, doing a quick reanalysis. Just to be sure.

Redmond chuckled at Liza's accuracy. "Well, bingo, next."

"What, you're just giving me that?" She questions him, her eyes widening.

"You'll get to know them inside. Next."

The agent watches a youngster appear - well, at least to Liza's eyes. She's pretty sure she has to be at least of Redmond's age. "That's Kelsey Peters." He states, waving hello to the girl, who scurries and busies herself around desks, full of notes and manuscripts in her hands. She thinks they must know each other quite well, the two. Well, it's clear to the mother what her job is at Empirical.

"Ohh, she's new. She's the do-all assistant. Poor thing's probably working for the other woman, what's her name? Diana, right?"

His mouth widens dramatically as ever, "Stop it, psychic.- God, you're good at this."

"Writer's eye." _Or maybe years of observing other people being happy around me. Lives so different but all so much better than mine. Well, that's about to change_ , she thinks as positive as she can be.

And, all of a sudden, she sees **_him_**. She doesn't know what drew her to him since the very first moment - maybe it was this veil of mystery that seemed to be all over him. Liza feels so immediately intrigued for him, his figure so composed, and she thinks she can't quite decipher him. She urges to ask Redmond who he is, as discreetly as she can, but her writer mind shoots her shot at characterizing him.

"He seems- reserved. Like everyone wants to break him down, but they'll all end up failing a miserable attempt. He doesn't look smug or a skirt chaser, I'd say women would be fighting for him instead. Maybe he's tired of it, maybe he wants to be understood." As Liza looks up at Redmond staring wide-eyed, she finds she just did what she does best - overanalyzed. "I- I mean, that's my guess." _Great_.

"Ooh, deep,- well, that tall guy over there is Charles Brooks, the publisher's son. Very cute guy, family man - ooh - messy divorce, honey... But, you guessed it, currently on the market."

Liza's eyebrow furrows, "Editor, I presume?"

"Bullseye, girl."

All of a sudden, all Liza wonders is whether he'll be her editor - her curiosity leads her to believe he'd be interesting to work with up close - not to mention she liked to unravel mysteries, and he sure seemed to be an intriguing enigma to resolve.

"Well, this was fun, right? Shall we get inside?" Redmond asks, his hand on her shoulder, and Liza nods. Full of doubts and passing thoughts, feeling as though as she'll be the one frantically asking the questions during the meeting, and not at all providing the needed answers. "It's gonna be alright. Let's go, huh?"

_He adds, reassuringly. He can be sassy, energetic, bold - but he sure is kind_ , Liza thought.


End file.
